


The Saturday Night Before The Rest Of Their Lives

by SpaceAceKaiju



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Sharing a Bed, spoilers for the miniseries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 19:49:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19047187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceAceKaiju/pseuds/SpaceAceKaiju
Summary: Tomorrow is Sunday, the first day after the Apocalypse. It's still Saturday tonight, and there are words that must be spoken before the sun rises.





	The Saturday Night Before The Rest Of Their Lives

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I finally wrote my inaugural "Morning after the Apocalypse" fic. I can't believe it's taken me until the miniseries came out to write something for these two, but I'm glad I finally did. Light spoilers for the miniseries, as they discuss some of the ending events and how they planned to get around their punishment on Sunday.

            The Oxford bus pulled to a stop in front of an upscale London apartment building, just as Crowley persuaded the driver to do. The demon waved the man on his way before striding to the lobby, his frazzled companion close behind. Truthfully they were both frazzled, exhausted, and frankly in need of a drink or several. But there was still the business of Agnes’ last prophecy to sort out, so the alcohol would have to wait.

            In the close proximity of the lift, Crowley couldn’t help but notice Aziraphale as the angel worried with the chain of his pocket watch. Crowley had been noticing his behaviors for thousands of years. He knew Aziraphale better than anyone, so could conclude with absolute certainty that the angel was horribly nervous. So was Crowley, though he’d be loath to admit it. They’d usually spend their time in neutral places: the Ritz, St. James Park, various little restaurants and shops. Sure, the bookshop and the Bentley were more personal places, but they had crossed that bridge long ago. This was uncharted territory.

            Crowley strode out of the lift without a word, flicking his apartment door open and gesturing for Aziraphale to enter. The angel hesitated for a moment and Crowley waited quietly, afraid to spook him away. After a pause he coughed to clear the air.

            “Well,” he mumbled, “you’re already here. Might as well.” Aziraphale considered this before nodding and stepping through the threshold. The demon followed, closing the door behind them.

            “Oh. Well.” He found the angel attempting to understand the architecture of his home. His brow was furrowed, as he observed the concrete, not displeased but confused. “It’s very. Er.”

            “It’s modernist.” Crowley supplied, passing Aziraphale to collapse on the throne in his office. “Very popular among arty types these days.”

            “I didn’t think you considered yourself of the sort.” Aziraphale commented. He gave a glance to the throne with a look that said _Really now,_ which Crowley returned with one that groaned _Let’s not discuss it._

            “I don’t. Just thought it’d be funny. Inspiring decadence and sin in a minimalist living space.”

            “I see.” Aziraphale replied, even though he didn’t. “Your plants are lovely. I didn’t think the in-home variety grew that big.” Crowley couldn’t help but smile.

            “They can if you scare them enough, give them high standards to live up to. Don’t want to disappoint the boss, hmm?” The houseplants quaked at Crowley’s tone, drawing a barked laugh from the demon. His expression hardened after a moment, looking back to Aziraphale standing awkwardly a few feet away. “Speaking of.” He sighed.

            “The prophecy.”

            “Yeah. How’s it go again?”

            “I believe it was, “When all is said and done, you must choose your faces wisely for soon enough you will be playing with fire.””

            “She means Heaven and Hell coming for our asses, no doubt.” Crowley swung himself out of the throne and paced aimlessly around. “They’re shaken now, but come tomorrow they’ll be on us soon as they can.” Aziraphale fidgeted, following Crowley’s pacing with his eyes.

            “You don’t really think it’ll be that severe, do you?” Crowley stopped and stared at him, incredulous. The angel winced under the attention. “I mean, we might be able to talk this out.”

            “Angel,” Crowley said firmly, but without malice, “we’re past all that. We’re on the books as traitors now, and the longer they leave us to our own the worse it would be for them, in their eyes.”

            “Well, yes, though I’m not too keen on butting into their business any more than you are.” Aziraphale agreed. “But traitors? Truly?” His distress was apparent, and Crowley understood why. Hell had wanted to pin him as one for millennia but never had the proof. Besides Crowley had already Fallen, he had little left to lose. But Aziraphale wasn’t a demon, he hadn’t Fallen. Accepting he was a traitor to Heaven could push him dangerously close to asking Questions, and Crowley refused to let that happen to him.

            “Look,” He said gently, taking off his sunglasses, “this all got stopped because we agreed the Great Plan was different from the Ineffable Plan, right?” Aziraphale nodded. “Right. So Gabriel and the lot are angry at you because you didn’t go along with the Great Plan. But the Ineffable Plan is more important, really.” The angel considered this for a moment before nodding slowly.

            “Then, in reality, I am not so much a traitor to Heaven as I am to… the Great Plan?”

            “It’s more like to Gabriel and the other angels. But they aren’t Heaven. They live in Heaven, yeah, but the power of Heaven comes from…” Crowley waved his hand, “you know.”

            “So I haven’t betrayed Heaven at all.” Aziraphale murmured, relief evident in his tone and the slouch of his shoulders. “Not if I haven’t gone against God’s will.”

            “Exactly.” Crowley nodded, crossing back over to the angel. “Nothing to worry about. Well, you don’t have to worry about that, anyway.” He reached out and clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder without a thought. The angel and demon froze at the moment contact was made. Neither spoke. They rarely touched like this, gentle and casual. The energy between them felt different now, something familiar they were terrified to name. Crowley went to remove his hand but was stopped by Aziraphale’s covering it.

            “Thank you, Crowley.” The angel said, his tone hushed and soft. Soft like how Crowley had sounded when he invited Aziraphale to stay the night. Crowley looked at Aziraphale and took a risk.

            “I was never going to leave, you know.” He said quietly.

            “I do.” The angel replied.

            “Then, you know why I stayed.”

            “Yes. It’s why I kept fighting.”

            “Angel-“

            “I was terrified, Crowley.” Aziraphale confessed, a bit breathless. “We were never supposed to talk to each other, let alone become friends. But during the Blitz, I…” He trailed off, swallowing down his nerves.

            “Rome.”

            “What?”

            “Rome. When you, er, tempted me to oysters at Petronius’ place.” Crowley mumbled, unable to keep eye contact for too long. “That’s when.” Aziraphale tentatively raised his hand to cup Crowley’s face.

            “Oh, my dear.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been a horrible coward.” Crowley shook his head.

            “Sensible to be afraid.” He said. “Heaven politics fuck with your head. And it’s not like I said anything.”

            “You didn’t want to scare me off, I assume.” Crowley blushed a bit and scoffed.

            “Dunno about that. Just didn’t think you’d go for it. Me. Ever.” He shrugged. “Couldn’t blame you.” Aziraphale studied Crowley’s face for a moment.

            “Well,” he said gently, “things seem to be different now, don’t they.” Crowley didn’t say anything for a moment before cautiously reaching out to bring Aziraphale to his chest. The angel melted into him and Crowley gave a shuddering sigh, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale a touch too tight.

            “Still got superiors to deal with.” He murmured into the angel’s curls. “Very likely death to dodge.” Aziraphale rubbed small circles into the demon’s back.

            “We’ll think of something. I know you well enough to trust you’ve got some ideas.” Crowley froze.

            “That’s it.” He pulled back slightly, still keeping hold of Aziraphale. “You know me better than anyone.”

            “Um, yes?”

            “And I know you more than anyone in Heaven does.”

            “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.” An excited grin threatened to split Crowley’s face in two.

            “Angel, how do you kill a demon?”

            “Well, with Holy Water.” Aziraphale narrowed his eyebrows. “Crowley-“

            “And an angel?”

            “Hellfire, probably, Crowley what-“ The demon took him by the shoulders, thrumming with manic glee.

            “You must choose your faces wisely.” He said with slow purpose and intent. Aziraphale’s eyes widened.

            “For soon enough you will be playing with…“ He laughed. “Oh, you sly serpent, that’s it!”

            “They’ll never know,” Crowley beamed, “never paid enough attention to tell. And if they see they can’t kill us, I’ll bet you they’ll just shake their hands and be done with it.”

            “Let us to our own devices.” Aziraphale said. “At least for a few centuries.”

            “A few millennia!” Crowley laughed, catching the angel in another hug and spinning them around. “No more paperwork, no prying eyes!”

            “No more tempting?” Aziraphale teased.

            “Well, maybe a bit here and there. For balance’s sake.” Crowley huffed. “Naturally you’ll have to keep thwarting, then.”

            “Naturally.” Aziraphale agreed. Crowley’s smile faded for a moment to a look of concern.

            “Aziraphale,” he asked, “are you sure? Is this what you really want?” The angel smiled, warm and full of love.

            “Yes.” He replied with absolute certainty. The kind Crowley only heard when dealing with rare book purchases or wine tastings. “More than anything on Earth.”

            “Then we’ll need to make it through tomorrow first.” Crowley said. “After tonight, we switch until it’s done with. Then we go from there.”

            “I’ll have to wait to see the state of the shop, then.” Aziraphale sighed wistfully.

            “Just for a little while.” Crowley assured him, brushing a stray curl from the angel’s face. “I’ll see to it things are taken care of in your absence.”

            “I’ll try to keep your plants in line, then.”

            “You’d better, angel.” The threat held no weight to it, of course. The weight of the day, however, suddenly made itself apparent enough for Aziraphale to notice.

            “Are you going to sleep?” He asked.

            “I should. It’ll help.” Crowley agreed. He paused before taking Aziraphale by the hand. “Come to bed with me?” The angel turned an impressive shade of red.

            “Crowley!” He sputtered. “We’ve only just-“

            “I mean sleeping! Just sleeping!” Crowley backpedaled. “I know you don’t do it often but it might do you some good. And…” He glanced off to the side, a bit pink in the face. “I’d rather not… be alone. Tonight.” The angel’s gaze turned soft, and he gently squeezed Crowley’s hand.

            “Alright.” He said softly. “It has been a while.” He let Crowley lead him down the hall, past the houseplants and a statue he felt might need to be discussed at a later date, to the demon’s bedroom. It held a very comfortable looking bed, among more of Crowley’s personal items and a very large closet. Crowley let go of Aziraphale to shed his clothes, stopping partway undressed when he noticed the angel still standing in the doorway.

            “I know you don’t like to miracle your clothes,” he said with a smirk, “but I don’t think you’ll want to sleep in that.” Aziraphale huffed and began to shed his clothes as well, Crowley politely turning around to finish himself.

            “Is this more appropriate?” Crowley turned and stifled a groan at the tartan pajamas Aziraphale had manifested. They were horribly ugly, but so true to the angel that it was hard to be upset at the choice.

            “It’ll do.” He said, sliding under the covers and holding up a corner for Aziraphale. After a moment of hesitation Aziraphale laid down, Crowley setting the duvet over them both with a comfortable sigh. He instinctively moved closer to the warmth radiating off the angel, who easily accepted him into an embrace. They fell silent save the sound of their unnecessary breaths, but Aziraphale spoke softly before Crowley could drift off to sleep.

            “In case something goes wrong tomorrow,” he murmured, “I. I love you, Crowley.” Crowley pulled back enough to look Aziraphale in the eyes, his own gaze softening as he placed a hand on the angel’s cheek.

            “I love you too.” He said, surprised that the words did not ignite his tongue. They slid off it with ease, as if they were always meant to. “Could I kiss you, Aziraphale?”

            “I was rather hoping you would.”

             The two celestial beings came together in the gentlest way, in a kiss that was as soft and chaste as a promise. There was more they wanted to say, but those words were for tomorrow. Tomorrow they would fulfill the final prophecy of Agnes Nutter. Tomorrow they would be free, at least for a time, from those Above and Below. Tomorrow would be the first day of the rest of their lives, and they would finally live them together.


End file.
